


That Which I Missed

by Auto_Alchemechanicist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, fruk gift exchange 2015, this is old but i wanted to post it on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auto_Alchemechanicist/pseuds/Auto_Alchemechanicist
Summary: During World War II, Francis recovers from his wounds in a London hospital after disappearing for eight months.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 21





	That Which I Missed

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: In war, one disappears. The other (as either an ally or enemy) seems to realize something as uncertainty continues.   
> Rating: K, although, I do warn that it is rather dark due to war. 
> 
> Here is my FrUK Gift Exchange for eclipseoftheshadows! I’m forever grateful to my beta, britishwreck, for looking over this one thousand times! 
> 
> France's human name is Francis Bonnefoy and England's human name is Arthur Kirkland.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Boku no Hero Academia. I just borrow Horikoshi's characters and play Barbies with them.

A chuckle escaped the Frenchman’s lips. Wasn’t it easier this way?

“What are you laughing at?” The annoyance was evident in Arthur’s voice when he turned to look at Francis, raising an eyebrow in question as if showing any signs of pleasure or delight were forbidden. Still, a man in the hospital who laughed was probably a good sign of things. There was a great probability that he was recovering quickly enough to feel joy and the need to exhibit it through an act like that. Arthur had sat patiently beside Francis’ bed, waiting for the other to regain consciousness when he suddenly saw curious blue eyes looking at him with confusion. The Briton didn’t know where it had come from, but he had stood and unapologetically wrapped his arms around the Frenchman, revealing he had been worried sick about him. _“You bleeding twat!”_ he had said as a greeting, burying his face against Francis’ bandaged shoulder. The embrace had caught the Frenchman off guard, but he accepted it nonetheless, and returned the gesture at the best of his abilities.

“If anyone were to see us, they would think we were civilised.”

“Or they could say we are just waiting for the right moment to strike at each other’s throats.”

It was true. Arthur and Francis had ceased to go at war with each other for a few decades, and a moment of tranquillity existed between the two rivals. If anyone were to ask him, however, Arthur would say it didn’t even last for the time it took to blink an eye. Two damn wars had erupted, bigger than either of the two nations had ever joined or caused. At least they were on the same side, and won the first. They couldn’t say the same about the current one they were in, though.

“You wouldn’t attack a wounded man, now would you?” Francis asked, his tone light and teasing, giving the other a wry smile.

“If that man keeps talking, I will change my mind and our treaty will be non-existent.” Arthur’s response resembled a hiss, but it was rather defeated in a way. They were all talk and no action for the time being. They had to watch what they did and how they used their energy. “Although, I shouldn’t be so calm with you right now.”

“And why is that? I am on your side, remember?”

“You disappeared without a trace for months, and you don’t want me to react to it?”

Silence struck them, and it seemed to last longer than just a simple moment. It stretched on, becoming rather uncomfortable and awkward, something Francis both disliked and avoided as much as he could.

“You know what caused my absence.” Indeed, Francis’ disappearance had not been that of his own choice. It was unfortunate, and Arthur could not bring himself to label it as weakness or cowardice from the Frenchman’s part. No, Francis had done his job, and held his front to the best of his abilities. However, there were two Germans, and with their strengths combined they managed to occupy the South of France. Its representation was left paralysed, if anything. His disappearance had caused a great stir, especially to a certain ally.

The memory of it struck Arthur with a cold feeling. It had always been like a sort of game for them: Whenever Francis struck him, Arthur would fight back, and vice versa. It was a cycle they followed every time battle was initiated for the two. They had established a reputation for their relationship, becoming historical rivals, and the first two to sign up for events that involved bringing the other down. It had become an unspoken rule: when France and England argued with each other, nobody else could intervene, nor take their place. It seemed the line had been crossed when others began to tread on their territory.

Arthur thought of the previous weeks, when he couldn’t stop questioning himself about Francis’ well-being. The moment of uncertainty hit him at the most inopportune time.

Arthur was more than just a serious man, especially at the time of war. He was practical and efficient, always making sure to prioritise and fulfill his duties as both a soldier and a country. Emotions weren’t his forte; that was Francis’ department and Arthur wouldn’t dare step into it before getting through with his agenda. He was too preoccupied with his own affairs that when he had some time to rest, he would take a while to settle down into other thoughts that seemed to be important.

For once—rather, for this particular occasion—they weren’t each other’s enemies. Surprisingly so, they could manage to work alongside one another when there was a threat to their interests. They had settled their differences long before any of this mess occurred, but it was something far greater than just their interests being on the line. Germany was invading, and he wasn’t holding back. It had happened once before, hadn’t it? The Great War saw troubles neither Arthur–nor Francis or the rest of the world, for all that it mattered—could have imagined. Its aftermath left a great part of Europe in turmoil, so much so that the tension spilt over the borders of the German state and spread to its neighbours the quickest. If the United Kingdom hadn’t been separated from Europe, it may have just been enveloped the way France and other countries had.

Arthur had seen Francis. He _knew_ he spotted him. However, he also knew that the Frenchman had to deal with his own affairs within his country, and he wasn’t always going to be available. It had been too long for Arthur’s comfort, though. Hadn’t he been due back for a few days? The Briton found himself wondering about his health state before cursing his thoughts and telling himself he shouldn’t give a damn, and Francis could handle himself. If he didn’t have the skill to do so then he wouldn’t be around to annoy the hell out of him, now would he? No, he had to trust him. It wasn’t like Francis to disappear, especially in such a desperate time, when his country needed him, but he must have had his reasons, right? As much as he tried to convince himself of that, he couldn’t buy it. It didn’t ring well in his ears. Where was Francis? De Gaulle needed him; his countrymen needed him; his allies…

News weren’t slow to travel if it was an emergency, or a victory in a battle, and Arthur was one of the first to hear that there had been an invasion in France, which caused him inevitable distress. To think someone could pick a fight with that fool, and yet, Ludwig and Gilbert were both mad. Yes, they were insane! Arthur wasn’t a stranger to betrayal within war, but even beyond his years of experience, he was still a tiny bit naïve to believe that Gilbert would at least yield. How wrong he had been.

The more he thought about it, the more it pained him to admit that he was worried about Francis. He wanted to be right and just assume that he was in Calais, being lazy on the beach and enjoying its shores while the rest of them fought his battles. That was absolute nonsense, and Arthur decided to be realistic. Something horrible had happened to his companion, something not even he had a clue on until that wretched day when he heard that there had been a hindrance.

It was funny how Arthur, of all people, could be reminded of that one treaty. He had every right to be worried about Francis, had every reason to have an anxious disposition and feel the nerves of missing someone who was constantly by his side. That treaty meant something more than just ‘peace between the two countries’. They hadn’t told a soul—except for their bosses, of course—and agreed that a little secret wouldn’t hurt anyone. Francis was fine with that; he, who was ostentatious and proud, always announcing the wonders of his country and other relevant things, decided that for once, Arthur could persuade him enough to keep his mouth shut. Arthur couldn’t even say the damn word, proving the difficulty of its pronunciation in both French _and_ English. Francis said it all the time, so why couldn’t he? Hadn’t he accepted their union as something more than just an intimate ceremony? There were even vows exchanged, for crying out loud! Those were only for them to know, but it didn’t make it any easier for Arthur. It was just simpler if the treaty wasn’t mentioned, not because Arthur was against it, but because saying that he was mar—saying that an entente existed made it seem a lot more formal and a lot less like a commitment. Yes, it was quite comical how in his free time, Arthur could dwell on irrelevant things like those, but he made a mental note to use those thinking moments to distract himself with more interesting activities.

He was brought back to the present when he felt Francis pat his leg, and his mind was able to focus on the Frenchman.

“Can you blame me for being concerned?”

He heard Francis let out a sigh before feeling a hand rest over his. “Non. I would have been upset, too, if it had been you in my place.”

“Yes, well, what matters is that you’re at least awake and mindful now.” Arthur didn’t push Francis away, however. There had been something he had realised when Francis was missing. Through the despair and doubt, it had been more than just a mere stray notion. If he had to be honest with himself—if he were to be stripped down to just his heart and his feelings, because he had those, contrary to popular belief—it wasn’t just for the treaty, or for their relationship. Francis had become a part of Arthur, and whether that was a positive or a negative attribute was still up for debate. Nonetheless, when he had spare moments to think and reflect, it had become evident to him that he needed Francis. It hurt to hear that a part of his country had been invaded; how could have they been so careless? How could have Arthur let that happen? He felt guilt, and the pain in his chest never quite left him during these times of calamity and war. It never occurred to him just how attached they had been. Francis was always there, visible for Arthur to know beyond a doubt that he would _always_ be present. And yet, it was like having a wall between the two when the Frenchman failed to arrive to their rendezvous. “Don’t do it again, Frog. I will personally place you in that same bed if needed be.”

“Glad to know things have not changed between us, mon amour.”

Yes, all talk, and no action.

“Of course they haven’t. Did you expect for my behaviour to be altered by a few, minor battles?”

“You know these things aren’t minor.”

“And yet, here we are. You know me better than that, Francis.” It was an insult to Arthur’s personal beliefs.

“I do, and I commend you,” Francis countered. “I have to admit, however, that this war holds horrors I wish would not exist. They did things… Things I would not wish upon my worst enemies.” He took a pause and diverted his gaze away from Arthur’s before continuing. “My attempts at defence were not enough, which gave Gilbert and Ludwig the upper hand advantage, unfortunately.”

Arthur noticed it took Francis great effort to say this, and if he looked closely, he could even see him trying to gulp down a lump. If Francis was getting emotional and silent over what he was trying to explain, then Arthur knew just how rough it must have been. It had landed him in the hospital for it. His men gave Arthur quite the surprise when they reported that a bloodied French soldier was being treated in London. How special must that soldier be, to be announced to him as if the man had ordered it himself? Who else _could it have been_? The only one who would chime in through the door with an irritating ‘Bonjour !’

“You don’t have to say it, dear.” Arthur’s tone was calm, attempting to soothe Francis before standing. Their hands were still interlocked when he leant down to kiss his forehead. “Perhaps tea could be of assistance? You need to rest for your wounds to heal, and a cup of hot tea may help you to relax.”

Francis closed his eyes when he felt gentle lips on his skin. “Perhaps you are right.”

“I always am.”

“I will trust you with the preparations for it, so try not to make the water evaporate or burn the herbs.”

That flared something inside of Arthur and the little smile that had settled on his lips turned into a scowl. “In that case, I will bring you the kettle so you can prepare your own damn tea.”

“I said I was trusting you!” Francis repeated, his voice incredulous and amused.

“Well, it sounded very much like you weren’t! Now, if you’ll excuse me, _monsieur_ , tea time will begin shortly. Be thankful I will be sharing my biscuits with you.”

Despite the little quarrel, Arthur couldn’t help thinking that he had certainly missed that, too.

====

It had been a long time since Francis saw sunshine. There had been days when the sun did come out in France and provided its heat, but Francis never saw it as something that could brighten his day. After eight months, he could admit the light that came through the hospital room’s window was comforting. The only detail that changed everything about the sun for him was that he wasn’t in France. He saw the irony the world had in store for him. He often thought London was depressing, a stark contrast from the lively city of Paris. Francis noticed that these two cities had decided to trade places, making London the most welcoming city while Paris suffered from the confusion and troubles of war. Perhaps the morning wasn’t as terrible because he had company? Francis tried to convince himself of that, and he thought it had worked, too! Nevertheless, it was difficult to forget what he had gone through, and no matter how relieved he was to see Arthur, he saw that it had become troublesome to maintain a smile.

The click of the door broke Francis out of his thoughts, but it was a pleasing distraction. Arthur came in with a tray containing their tea and biscuits, which he set down on the beside table before taking his seat next to Francis.

“Have I told you De Gualle set up your government here?” As he spoke, Arthur took a cup from the tray and carefully handed it to Francis.

“Non, but I was told by Pétain once the news reached us,” Francis answered. What else could they talk about during war besides war? He looked down at his tea, steam escaping the cup and warming his face momentarily. “He said De Gualle was a coward.”

“I hope you didn’t believe him. Isn’t he the traitor?” Arthur bit on a biscuit as he waited for a response.

“He sided with Germany. ‘Traitor’ is too kind of a word.” The Frenchman considered what to say next as he took a sip of his tea. He had missed it, something he had realised when he was back in France. Something as trivial as tea managed to make him feel at ease. Despite it being too hot for his mouth to tolerate, it was still better than talking about what had happened. The more he thought about it, the more unbearable it became. Was it obvious on his face? Could Arthur read his expression?

“Don’t let me eat all the biscuits. I brought some for you, too. I don’t have your fancy French pastries, but then again, it is hard to find time to even make scones lately…Francis?”

“I am glad they didn’t reach you,” Francis muttered. He couldn’t hide behind biscuits, scones, and tea; he had felt his bottom lip begin to quiver when his gaze became an inevitable blur.

Arthur tiredly sighed. “Yet,” he conceded, albeit bitterly. “This war has been going on for years. They’ve gotten to everyone around them, and even split your country into parts. I am not an idiot, Francis. I know I am next on their list.”

Well, Francis couldn’t say Arthur was wrong. Back in France, he had overheard Gilbert and Ludwig speak of ways in which they could take down Britain. An aerial attack seemed like a great idea, according to Gilbert! That was when Ludwig disagreed and suggested U-boats, instead. They caused more damage and were more reliable than mere aeroplanes. Francis knew Arthur was stubborn and could hold his ground. However, he was well aware that after a certain point, even the strong tired. Attacks were continuous and there was absolutely no way the UK could stand till the end on its own. If France were to be consumed, it would be even easier to get to the island nation; 34 kilometres wasn’t too far if sailed with patience.

“Right, how silly of me. My optimism should just be thrown out the window,” Francis mumbled after a moment of thought.

“Optimism will get you no where. We need to be realistic and not lose sight of the objective. They want to tire us out, if that hasn’t been obvious.” There was no room for positivity and Arthur knew it. His only thoughts were how to keep his government afloat and have any bullets ricochet when shot. “Perhaps that’s what made you surrender in the first place.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Wasn’t Francis’ ego just as inflated as the size of the Earth? Wasn’t his idealism his biggest hindrance? Francis had never wanted to admit such a thing, but deep down, he acknowledged his faults. They knew each other too well, didn’t they?

“Excuse me for trying to have some hope for you, then.” The flare in Francis’ voice was absent. He didn’t even try to set up his charming tone; the comment made his own blood run cold. He shouldn’t have expected for Arthur to understand his motives. Oh, but there he went again with his optimism!

“Do you think I’ve lost hope? Of course, I haven’t! But if you pay attention to our circumstances, I don’t have much of a choice. One wrong move and everything will go to hell, Francis! I don’t have time for ‘looking at the bright side’. I am more worried about those goddamn U-boats and my people being deported to those blasted lagers! I’m more worried about running low on tea than running low on sanguinity. We all have different issues to worry about. I don’t have just my people looking at me in hopes to save them. If you haven’t noticed, I am under a lot of pressure. Do not take me for being bloody optimistic right now!”

The Frenchman had turned his gaze to the window again, attempting to block out Arthur’s scolding and failing. “How strange that you were misinformed. I didn’t surrender. My government gave me away.” He said that as an afterthought, a point to add to something that didn’t matter at the moment. Their relationship was lots of things, and one of them was bittersweet. He was content for being by Arthur’s side after going through confusion and torture, but he could go without an argument for a day or two. Of course, that wasn’t possible with them; they _had_ to bicker for the sake of doing so. They always thought they were both right, which made their ideas clash and their blood boil. They did it because they cared for one another, Francis was sure about that. However, Arthur was taunting him about something that was out of his control. “Don’t you feel lucky for having your country in one piece?” he asked. “The only reason I even mentioned feeling happy for you was because at least you are sitting in a chair eating biscuits instead of trying to recover from broken body parts like me. I don’t want for you to end up like me, Arthur!”

“I don’t feel fortunate whatsoever.” It was a dark mutter that came from Arthur as he set his cup and biscuits down on the tray. “There is no luck for being one of the countries left standing. It only means they will think of a more effective idea and use that on whomever they want.”

“They can’t be the only ones coming up with useful ideas and weapons.”

A short silence enveloped the room and Arthur couldn’t help but ponder over that. Francis was a stubborn arse, but he always made great use of said trait, and it was irritating to say the least. Yet, deep down, they both knew Francis was right; it only took a lot for Arthur to admit it to himself.

With a huff, Arthur stood. “I’ll be back later,” he said curtly, leaving Francis in the lonesome room with the tea that had gotten cold from being neglected for too long. It was for the best that they’d spend some time alone for the moment; months had not been enough, apparently, since they still argued as if they’d just punched each other’s faces. Nevertheless, something told Francis that Arthur agreed with his statement. They all had a brain to think with, but it also depended on how they used that intelligence. For Francis, he didn’t have the chance to demonstrate his strength or resistance for too long since he was forced to be a trophy for the Germans after his government went to shambles. He just wished he could tell Arthur that. During his time in France, he had been a prisoner in his own home, first under watch of the German brothers, and then under VichyFrance. Pétain taunted him to no end about De Gaulle and how France was in better hands, saying Germany’s plan was far superior… ha. Francis failed to see how it was so since his people were confused and falling apart. Some were taken to camps because they were Jews, and the rest suffered the fate of a broken country. Just thinking about it was enough to make his bones ache.

The sun had begun to set, but there was no beauty in it in Francis’ opinion. It was the same dull orange from another time, which reminded him of misery and desolation. Not even when Arthur came back into the room did it regain some colour of emotion. Francis had refused to drink his tea and left it aside along with Arthur’s abandoned cup. He assumed his partner had come to pick it up since he probably missed it more than he missed him.

“The sun lacks colour,” he said flatly.

The Briton approached his bed and glanced out the window to observe what Francis saw. “Of course it does. It rained today.”

A look of confusion crossed Francis’ face and he turned to Arthur as if he had just asked the question. “I may be the one lying on a hospital bed, but I am quite sure I haven’t lost my mind just yet, darling,” he said with a sour tone.

“Good for you, love, because I have already lost mine. Don’t act surprised.” Arthur’s statement was equally harsh, but he didn’t seem to care as he retook his seat beside the Frenchman. Could it really be possible to lose it a second time? Francis knew he was in love with a mad man, but who was to say they all weren’t insane already?

Arthur always did that, speaking cryptically to hide his true emotions so he could come off as a tough little fighter. It never work with Francis, who was able to see right through him. It hadn’t rained that day, at least not outside. He knew this from observing the window all day, since there was nothing better to do except have the company of a blasted tea cup.

He refrained from using the word ‘hope’ around Arthur. “I suppose you used an umbrella to keep yourself dry,” Francis said.

Arthur let out a hollow chuckle. “The rain was acidic.”

Francis acted unimpressed. “Get that fixed before it becomes a problem, then.” The rain they mentioned was not physical, but it always rained in London. London was, quite literally, Arthur’s heart, to say the least.

He glanced back at his companion only to see him sigh and run a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not sure how anything can help it become basic enough to be tolerable,” Arthur said.

Pouting, the Frenchman thought over what they were up against. Arthur couldn’t fix everything and they both knew it. However, it didn’t hurt to have some help. “You don’t have to think of it alone, you know?” Francis said. He found out that his body still ached when he tried to change positions, but he tried not to let out any complaints as he moved to one side of the bed, making room for Arthur before patting the empty space. “Getting rid of harmful environmental factors is one way.”

“Oh, yes. That’s a _great_ suggestion. Considering there are hundreds of those things, I’ll just start picking them out one by one until I get to the one responsible for it. Marvellous idea, Francis.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur stood from his seat and carefully took his place where Francis had prepared it. He tried not to take up too much space, but he found that lying down felt incredible. Hospital beds were more comfortable than his own; what the hell?

“You will eventually find it, though. You just have to keep searching.” So much for omitting hopefulness from the conversation. “And when you do find the factor, you can get rid of it. If you need resources, you can ask me for them, even if my country is split up,” Francis chuckled.

That, surprisingly, got a small laugh out of the Briton. “I assumed we were so close that you didn’t need to offer and I could just walk into your home to take what I wanted without letting you know. I’m sure you wouldn’t even miss it.”

“True. I can always come by and take it back,” Francis shrugged. It was painful to do such a gesture, but even when he whined, his mirth overrode his pain.

Arthur turned on his side to face Francis, a look of amusement painted on his face. “Regardless of whether or not you are in one piece, I am still making you help me. You have to recover someday, and when you do, your arse is the first one I’m pushing out there with me. My ships never sunk when I was a pirate; my island will not sink while I’m a soldier. Especially not while you are occupying part of my government. You have some nerve, Bonnefoy…”

He stopped talking when he saw Francis giving him a preposterous look. He was insufferable. The Frenchman had his usual smirk that lacked the mischief. Arthur could even say it was genuine. “There was something that I figured out while I was amiss.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and waited for Francis to continue.

“I missed your tea. And the way you become infuriated.”

“You’re going to miss being alive if you keep your mouth running.”

Francis snickered at him. “If you kill me, I will find a way to haunt you in the afterlife.”

Arthur couldn’t help holding in his own chuckle. He knew Francis would, without a doubt. “This war has eroded us all from the inside. I’m surprised some of us are still breathing.”

“It can tear us apart, but it can never erase our spirits,” Francis said. “If it had, we would have been gone when we experienced our very first battle. Centuries later, we are faced with this as a test. We cannot know if we will arise as the victors, but as long as we have our courage, we are most likely to prevail.”

As Francis continued to talk, Arthur listened to his every word, finding that he was the most wilful person the island nation had ever met. With that, he understood why he had thought about him so much during his absence. Arthur missed Francis’ passionate motivation, and his way of carrying on. It somehow drove him mad, but through that he wouldn’t have wanted for that to change.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually quite nervous about this, ah. I tried my very hardest to make this work. There is no fluff in war, but they are Francis and Arthur. Their relationship thrives even through conflict. Because they are European and use British English, I thought it would be proper to use it as opposed to American English. I hope you all enjoyed!! Leave me comments to let me know what you think!!


End file.
